


Faith and the Lockpicks He Carries

by Lyss (hydrangea)



Category: Tortall - Pierce
Genre: Case Fic, F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 04:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrangea/pseuds/Lyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alanna unrolled the parchment, eyes flying over the words. After finishing, she stared at the fire, crumpling the parchment in her hand. Myles had gone missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith and the Lockpicks He Carries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Selenay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenay/gifts).



> A great thank you to Claire for helping me with the story on such a short notice!

### The Royal Palace, Corus

Alanna had chosen to marry in loose breeches and a long, low-cut tunic over a beautifully tailored shirt, hair elaborately put up and sword by her side. A decent compromise, she thought as she looked at herself in the mirror. The breeches and the tunic were silk, purple and gold to match her hair and eyes, the shirt a delicate white with subtle lace at the cuffs. She looked dazzling, in her own opinion, and like both a woman and a warrior.

Adjusting her sword, Alanna briefly felt a sting of sadness for Lightning--no other sword would ever reach Lightning's perfection for her. This sword was good enough, but it wasn't the same. Months had passed, but the weight was still unfamiliar.

"Alanna?" The door opened, and Buri stuck her head inside, grinning as she caught sight of her. "We're ready for you."

"I bet you are," Alanna said dryly and took a deep, shuddering breath. She hadn't thought she'd be this nervous. This was George and _their_ wedding. Not Jonathan and the spectacle that would've been. There wasn't anything to be afraid of.

George met her inside the hall, taking her hand and pulling her over for a quick kiss. Looking into her eyes, he nodded before chucking her under the chin.

"I love you," he said.

Alanna couldn't help but remember all the other times he'd told her that, times she hadn't wanted to hear it. She wanted to hear it now, though. She stood on her tip-toes and brushed her lips against his.

"I love you too," she told him seriously. She looked toward the priests, then toward the front of the halls, where her friends had gathered, and pasted a brave smile on her face. George squeezed her hand. The warmth of it melted something inside her, turning the smile real. When she looked back at him, his eyes glittered at her. "Let's go get married."  


### Pirate's Swoop, western coast of Tortall

The sun was peeking above the horizon when George bent to kiss Alanna's bare shoulder before edging out of bed. She turned her head to look at him grumpily, eyes slitted and hair a tangled mess.

"Leaving early?" she mumbled, shoving strands out of her face.

"Meeting," George replied and pulled on his clothes with a sigh. He'd much rather be in bed with Alanna right now, but they'd had the better part of two weeks for themselves. Probably, he should be grateful for that.

Alanna shoved herself up to a sitting position as he armed himself, stretching languorously before rising fully. George followed her movements with a smile, walking over to steal a kiss before she had the opportunity to cover herself up. She made a pleased noise that made his groin tighten, and he really _did_ wish he could stay. But if he waited, he would miss the agreed-upon meeting, and then he would miss the meet-up with Alanna on the way to Corus.

"Are you leaving today?" George asked, glancing toward the door. There had been a summon from the capital to appear as soon as their time had ended, and he knew Jon wasn't always the most patient of men.

Alanna laced up her shift. "I'm waiting for some messages," she said absently. "I can't leave before they've arrived. Do you think you'll be on time?"

George nodded and grabbed for his cloak, thrown over the top of the door. "Routine meeting only," he said. Not that meetings tended to remain routine for very long. He glanced one last time at Alanna. Her red hair shone in the increasing light. "I will see you in a few days then, love."

Alanna murmured something in reply that George didn't catch, as he had already stepped through the door. A stable boy met him outside with Beauty and yawned behind one hand before trudging back into the warmth. Beauty whickered welcomingly at him as he took her reins, and he patted her on the nose before getting into the saddle. Steering her onto the road to the north, he settled into a ground-covering trot.

* * *

Sweeping a dressing gown about her, Alanna exited their bedroom with a yawn and headed down the corridor toward her study. The air was blasted cold even inside the fortress. Issues of comfort had been delayed in favor of repairs to the fortifications. The rooms themselves would be warm enough when the servants had lit all the fires, but at this hour there was still a biting chill that seemed to seep out of the old stone walls.

The fire in her study was already lit. A servant girl bobbed a curtsy as she passed Alanna on her way out. A cup of tea sat on her desk along with a plate of light breakfast, which steamed warmly. Blessed be all servants, Alanna thought as she curled her fingers around the cup. She blew gently at the steam before going to sit before the fire. The bell high above her tolled dawn as someone knocked on the door.

"Enter," Alanna called, looking up. It was a messenger, still dusty from the ride and with a harried look on his face. She frowned, getting to her feet. He'd have to have ridden through the night to appear at this hour, and as far as she knew, there were no expected messages that would require this amount of hurry.

The messenger bowed, holding out a message tube for her. "Lady Alanna," he said formally. "Dispatches from the King."

She took the tube, turning it over in her hands. "Thank you," she said absently as the messenger bowed shortly and exited again. Her servants would take care of him, she knew, getting some food into him and finding him a place to rest. In the meantime, she had dispatches to read. Alanna touched the crystal around her neck, and the messages flashed. Spelled. Definitely from Jon, then.

Sitting back down by the fire, Alanna murmured the spell that would let her remove the message without triggering the fire that would burn it to cinders within moments. She unrolled the parchment, eyes flying over the words. After finishing, she stared at the fire, crumpling the parchment in her hand. Myles had gone missing.

* * *

George threw the hood of his cloak down and raised an eyebrow at the merchant. "Five silvers for this ratty shirt? You have _got_ to be kiddin' me!"

"It's a fine shirt," the merchant protested, holding up the offending garment. "Brought all the way from Galla! The cuffs--see here!--are of the finest lace, from the capital!" He waved the lace at George as if that would make him see more clearly. Beneath the fluttering garment, he held up three fingers, thumb crossing the palm.

"You're not foolin' me," George muttered, waving dismissively at the merchant, and walked away. His cloak swirled behind him and hid the fingers he tapped against his thigh from general sight. Once he was sure any watchers would've lost interest, he ducked into an alley and scampered up a stone wall, then into a garden. Crouching behind a large climbing flower twined with a latticework of wood, he waited for five breaths, then grinned as someone whistled from the other side of the wall.

"Any problems getting here?" he asked quietly, settling against the wall.

"None," the man on the other side answered. "There were some interested persons while we were still in Galla, but they lost interest as soon as we crossed the borders."

George frowned. That didn't sound right. The earlier information had said something was brewing where the Gallan and Tortallan border met along the River Drell. For them to lose interest when he passed the border. . . "You saw no armed men?" he asked.

"Not in any large numbers," the man said. "One or two, not more." A door opened somewhere on the other side, and a raucous company spilled outside, drowning any chance of conversation in their noise. The man cursed. "I left the dispatches under the third loose rock fifty paces north of the lightning-struck tree," he said hurriedly, then cursed again and scurried away.

George said a few choice words of his own, then cautiously got to his feet and climbed back the way he'd come. He needed to retrieve those dispatches and get in contact with Myles. No news was usually bad news in his experience, and this smelled of rotten eggs.

* * *

The messenger Alanna sent after George returned alone as the sun reached its zenith. Pacing their bedroom, Alanna went through the letter over and over again in her mind, trying to find something she'd missed, something that would make this better. _"Myles disappeared on an outing to the Lower City to meet an agent. No one has seen him since, and no witnesses have been found."_ She needed to get there, needed to find out what was going on.

Throwing herself on the bed, she stared the ceiling. If she took a spare mount along with Moonlight and rode hard, she could be in Corus in a few days. Much could happen in a few days, however. Too much.

A knock on the door had her back on her feet and wrenching the door open before the servant could release the knob. The girl blinked at her, then held out a letter. "This came from Master George," she began to say, but Alanna had already snatched it from her hands and ripped it open.

". . .traveling immediately to Corus," Alanna read aloud, frowning. How could he even _know_? The messenger she'd sent after him had quite clearly not caught up. She caught the servant girl's eye. "There wasn't any verbal message along with this?"

The girl shook her head. "No, Lady Alanna. Only the letter. Will you have further need of me?"

Alanna waved her hand "No, it's all right." If George was already on his way to Corus, he would arrive well before Alanna. A day's head start might not be much, but George traveled fast when he needed to and didn't carry armor and supplies like she did. She smiled a little. They really did compliment each other well. Scrunching the letter in her hand, she whispered a small spell and watched it burn merrily. Tomorrow.

* * *

George became aware he was being followed only a mile or so out of town. There was a flash of horses in the distance, and he could feel eyes fixed on him that shouldn't have been. If the contact had been followed without him noticing, the tail was good. Good, or the tail and his contact were conspiring together, which would mean that retrieving the dispatches would be utterly foolish. That the contact had been in his pay since the days when he was still the Rogue didn't help. But if he wasn't in on it. . . The dispatches would be important.

Glancing behind him, George steered Beauty toward the tree he could barely see on the horizon. It rested in the hollow between two hills, its dead branches rising above both gentle peaks. His tail was still far behind, and wouldn't catch up to him easily. On the other hand, if he let them catch up, he might get something out of them.

The dispatches were just where described, tucked beneath the rock in a tube that was rather worse for wear. George kept one eye on his surroundings while he translated the code. Once he was finished, he destroyed the parchment, letting the ashes scatter. The report was just as innocuous as the contact himself. This didn't look good.

Making a decision, George got back on Beauty and urged her into a trot. For now, keeping in front of his followers was the best idea. In Corus, however . . . well, becoming the hunter instead of the prey shouldn't be too much of a problem. For a second, he mourned the lost time with Alanna, then he kicked Beauty into a gallop. She'd understand.  


### Corus, Tortall

The ride to Corus took her a handful of days traveling along the fastest roads and switching horses every few hours. Alanna didn't bring a tent, settling for a fire and a good sleeping roll. That left more space for the horses' grain. Pulling into the stable yard at the palace, she was immediately greeted by hostlers and a gaggle of servants ready to guide her straight to Jon's study.

He looked up when she arrived, putting down the book he had been perusing. "Alanna," Jon said, getting to his feet and embracing her roughly. "I'm so sorry. The Provost's Guard is out searching as we speak, and I do believe Myles's guards haven't stopped since he was snatched.

Alanna hugged him back, leaning on his strength for a few seconds before stepping back. "Any news at all?" she asked tensely.

"Not much," Jon said, looking back down at the desk and picking up a paper. "With Myles's disappearance, I have no contact with the spy network, not with George gone as well." He looked hopefully at her, and suddenly she could see the wrinkles around his eyes, the tenseness of his mouth. Jon was as worried as she was.

Alanna's eyes burned as she shook her head. "No," she replied quietly. "He went out to meet with a contact just before your messenger arrived. I received a note that he was traveling here."

Jon frowned. "He should've arrived by now."

"I know!" Alanna said, throwing out her arms, suddenly unable to keep the worry nagging at her at bay. "I just don't know _anything_, and it's driving me insane!"

"We're all worried," Jon said sharply, then sighed. "You're joining the search?"

"I would like to see someone try to stop me," Alanna said through gritted teeth, then took a deep breath and tried to calm down. "I'll drop my things off and wash up before going to the Provost. If there's something. . . I'll send a message."

Jon nodded. A faint smile lit up his handsome face. "Let's hope it will be good news," he said, then sighed again and waved a hand. "Off with you. You're chewing enough at the bit as it is."

Alanna inclined her head and stalked off the way she'd come. No news, no hope. She swept a hand over her face, smearing the wetness at the corner of her eyes. Myles was alive, he had to be. The glint of her marriage band caught her eye and she raised her hand in front of her. "George," she whispered under her breath. "Where are you?"

* * *

George entered the capital a few days later. He chose not to enter by conventional means, as what he planned would be immensely more complicated should he have to navigate official channels and deal with old enemies at court along with these new ones. It was a pity he couldn't send a message to Jon and Alanna, but the men following him were proving themselves to be particularly stubborn and tenacious as a bulldog. As it was, it didn't look like he would be able to go by his original plan and turn the tables, stalking them. All attempts to get behind them had failed, and more than once he'd felt the tingle of magic. Their mage was _good_, unfortunately.

At the moment, he was crouching on the roof of the house two alleyways away from their current resting spot. Two of them were staying with the horses, but far too many had spread out to search for him. Past experience told him it wouldn't be too long before they succeeded.

Hearing voices beneath them, George pulled back into the shadows of the climbing vines that covered the house and chimney. He breathed shallowly as they congregated beneath his hiding spot.

"Have you seen him?" the bearded one with the knife-experienced hands the others called Rus asked. If Rus wasn't a Scanran, George would eat his hat the next time he wore one.

"The serving girl from the inn two streets over said she saw him walk in this direction," the shrill-voiced one called Taime said. He was one of the swordsmen and never traveled alone. "He's probably hiding out nearby."

Rus grunted. "Spread out and search. We need to find him soon--we're losing the schedule."

They parted without saying anything more and George slowly removed his fingers from his throwing daggers. He wished they didn't know him by sight. One thing about going respectable was that anyone who asked about him got an answer. Hard thing in his line of work, certainly. It was worth it, though. George looked down at the faint line where his marriage band usually sat. He'd sent one of his former street urchins to carry it to the palace, where Alanna was sure to get it once she reached the city. He was surprised at how much he already missed its presence. He'd changed, maybe even for the better.

Voices sounded beneath him again, and farther away he could hear one of them scrambling onto the roof of the same building he'd used to ascend. He had to make a decision, and now. Not that there were that many options to choose from. Stretching his back slightly, George took a deep breath, then deliberately nudged his foot against a loose pebble at the edge of the roof. It bounced across the edge and to the ground. The shouts went out immediately.

* * *

The main part of Myles's guard, led by Zahir, appeared at her side when she was halfway to the Provost's residence. Jon had most likely alerted them to her arrival, and Alanna didn't know whether to be glad or not. Greater strength, yes, but there would also be a certain amount of added visibility, even with a group of only ten. But then again, she herself couldn't go as unrecognized as she once could. In many ways, even Bazhir passed more unnoticed than she did.

"Woman Who Rides Like a Man," Zahir greeted her with a nod. The skin around his eyes was darkened, as if he hadn't gotten enough sleep. Alanna could relate. "We beg your forgiveness."

Alanna shook her head impatiently. "There's no time for that kind of thing," she told him. "My father was kidnapped, now we have to find him. Blaming ourselves we can do when he's safe."

Zahir bowed his head shortly. "As you wish," he said, then got down to the matter at hand. "We have searched the Lower City far beyond where the usual scuffles and hidden places are. The guard has locked down the city, so it is unlikely he has left. We have searched the rougher stretches of the Lower City, the places where fights most often break out and where we know scoundrels sometimes hide, and begun to farther. But there are still far too many places where he might be."

"They must have taken him deep into the Lower City," she said, mentally trying to picture a map. She hadn't gone there often even when she lived in Corus, beyond various trips with George. She could've used him now. "Has there been any word from the Rogue?"

"You would know better than I," Zahir admitted, making a slight face. The institution of the Rogue was something unfamiliar and unsettling for most Bazhir, Alanna knew. "The rumors say he has nothing to do with it, though. Only hearsay, though--I do not move with the likes of . . . the Rogue."

"It's better than nothing," Alanna said, turning onto the street where the Provost lived. She stopped near his residence. "Are you following me there?"

Zahir shook his head. "With your permission, we'd like to continue searching."

She hesitated, looking closer at his face. "Do," Alanna finally said, "but see to it you get some rest as well. You're beginning to look haggard."

Zahir nodded and pulled away. Alanna doubted he'd follow her advice, but at least he'd listened. She marched up the walk to the Provost's residence. The guards took one look at her and opened the gates.

"He's expecting you," a servant said as he hurried out to her. He gestured with one arm. "This way."

* * *

Being a prisoner was just as uncomfortable as he remembered it being, George realized as he stumbled along the back alleys of the Lower City behind Rus. Stripped of all belongings but the lockpick set he kept hidden somewhere no one but Alanna was likely to find it, he was as helpless as a kitten. George smiled at the ground. Well, maybe a kitten with very sharp claws. The men had clearly been told he was the Baron of Pirate's Swoop, not George Cooper, former Rogue. All the better for him.

They'd clapped iron cuffs around his wrists and attached a rope to his neck. The other end of the rough hemp was safely in Rus's hands. Every time his kidnappers made a sudden turn, George had to twist quickly to avoid putting any strain on the rope. Rus ignored his attempts to save his own neck. These men didn't seem to appreciate the value of keeping their prisoner unhurt.

The men who had been sent away somewhere came trotting back, warning about guards, and George found himself dragged down a shadowed alley and into a house. He stumbled madly over the threshold and only barely managed to keep from tumbling into a wall. He winced as the loop of rope tightened around his neck, but he managed to push himself after Rus.

Rus led them to the second floor of the house, stopping in a cramped room with only one small window and a roof that clearly leaked in the rainy season. George was pushed to the floor in the middle of the room, where he barely managed to avoid a moldy carpet that seemed on the way to merging with the rough wooden floor.

"The city is completely blocked off," one of the newcomers said. "We can't reach the hide-out right now." He nodded toward George. "Not with him."

"We'll make it," Rus said, pacing over to look out the window. "The guards may be suspicious, but they don't know this town as well as we do."

George frowned. These men were clearly not newcomers to town, but he would've known had they been in Corus for longer than a handful of years. Where would they have learned so much?

Rus turned back from the window. "We'll go tomorrow," he said decisively. "They won't be able to move the old man before then, so being late won't be an issue."

The other man looked skeptical, but he kept any objections to a barely audible grumble. George ignored him, busy trying to parse what he'd heard. He'd been deliberately targeted, clearly, and he wasn't the only victim. These men weren't particularly well-informed, either--certainly not as much as they should've been regarding him. There was something strange going on. He needed to know what that was, and, most importantly, who this 'old man' was.

They shoved him into a small, windowless room adjoining the main room, handing him a candle and a musty-smelling blanket before they locked him in. As soon as the door closed, George put them down and started to look around. He needed to find out where he was, and then, when they were asleep, it was time to snoop.

* * *

The meeting with the Provost dragged on longer than it should have, and by the time Alanna exited the property, the setting sun was painting the streets a dark red. The stray puddles from the morning's rain resembled nothing as much as blood. Alanna shivered, turning her head from the sun, and pulled her cloak tighter around herself. Zahir had come by to report that they were pulling back to Myles's city house to rest and eat. She should do the same.

Sensing someone coming up beside her and knowing who it must be, Alanna said quietly, "We need George."

The Provost nodded. "Your husband would be an invaluable asset in this. But if I'm not mistaken, he should be here, and quite clearly he is not."

Unwillingly looking toward the gates visible down the street, Alanna scanned the calmly moving city traffic, as if George would show up at her wish. "He should have been here before me," she said softly, then shook her head and headed decisively toward the palace. "Something must have happened."

The Provost didn't disagree. When the two of them reached the palace grounds, the sun was only a glimmer of light on the horizon, and Alanna had taken to lighting the way with her Gift. The purple light dancing around the two of them made them easy for the guards to spot. They let Alanna and the Provost pass unhindered.

Raoul met them in the corridor to Jon's study with a tight look on his face.

"Alanna," he said, embracing her. "You're late. I expected you to gallop in here at least two days ago."

"You can only ride so fast," she said dryly, trying not to think about George. Raoul never failed to make her smile, even now.

Raoul shook his head, falling in beside her. "The King's Own has taken up stations outside all city gates," he said. "No one's getting past both the guards and the Own." He exchanged a hard look with the Provost.

"They won't try," Alanna said as she pushed the door to Jon's study open without knocking. Jon looked up and came to his feet as she stepped inside. His desk was cluttered with papers and books, and a dinner tray left uneaten lingered on the table by the door.

"Any news?" he asked.

Alanna shook her head mutely, and Jon looked down, the lines around his eyes deeper than that morning. She knew that if she looked at herself in the mirror, she would look mostly the same.

"What are we doing?" he asked. Alanna walked over to the desk, taking a chair. The Provost and Raoul took the chairs beside her while Jon returned to his own with a cup of cold tea in his hand that he heated with a murmur.

"There's patrols all through the Lower City," the Provost said, producing a map from his sleeve and following the streets with his finger. "Agents of mine are scouring the places the guard can't go."

"Which is the easy part and not likely to succeed," Alanna said dryly, then swept a hand over her face. "Goddess, I'm _tired_, and we need George for this. Where _is_ he?" She was suddenly near crying, her throat thickening with every word. Had it been anyone but these two, anyone but her father and _husband_, she could've kept it together, but this was . . . this was _George_.

"George is missing?" Raoul said sharply. Something in his voice made Alanna look up. He knew something, he realized.

"Yes," she confirmed. "He sent a note that something was wrong and that he was traveling to check it out himself. I haven't heard from him since."

"You have," Raoul said, producing something from his pocket and placing it on the desk. With a sharp pain in her chest, Alanna realized it was George's marriage band. "This arrived with a street urchin this morning, before you came. I didn't have the time to find you before you headed off to the Provost."

Alanna's chest knotted. George was here, then, and he was up to something. "How long ago?" she asked.

"A few hours before midday," Raoul replied, looking at her. "Do you know why he would send you his marriage band?"

"It's code," Alanna said softly, reaching out and taking the band. The gold was smooth and cold against her roughened skin. "He's doing something important and won't be able to contact me." She closed her hand around the band. "He told me of it after our marriage ceremony."

"Is it about Myles?" the Provost asked, looking at her intently.

Alanna closed her eyes. "I just don't know."

* * *

Finding out his location was rather easy, in George's opinion. Covering up the _how_ afterwards was more complicated, involving pushing the brick back into place and brushing away the dry mortar without leaving streaks on the floor. It had taken him most of the afternoon to remove and return it quietly enough, but it had kept him busy.

His kidnappers had gone to sleep some hour past the midnight bell, and the other room was now silent enough that he dared retrieve the lockpicks and work at the door. He opened it just widely enough for him to slip out and walked carefully over to Rus's belongings. If anyone had a clue to what was going on, it would be him.

Goerge didn't find much: a change of tunic, random items, George's knives, and a letter of introduction. One of the men coughed and turned. George froze, breathing shallowly. If he was discovered, he'd have to run, and he wasn't ready for that just yet. The man snorted, then fell back into sleep. George slowly exhaled and reached to put everything but the letter back into Rus' bag. Then he tilted the parchment into the faint moonlight that passed through the window, frowning over the writing.

He read the words slowly, imprinting them in his mind. He couldn't risk staying out here for much longer. Thinking, he could do when he was back in his locked room. After replacing the letter, George slipped back into the room and locked the door again, making sure to do it soundlessly.

Settling against the wall with the blanket, George stared into the darkness, mind going over the writing. It had been Myles's, there was no doubt about it. It introduced the carrier to the contact George had met only a few days ago. But Myles wouldn't kidnap him, which meant that the letter hadn't come to be in Rus's hands by Myles's free will.

George worked his way through all the ciphers he could remember, fitting them against the brief missive. He closed his eyes, weariness beginning to take him over. Then his eyes snapped open again as the last piece fell into place.

_Spymaster's identity revealed. Infiltrated. Clean up._

His heart jolted, and he was abruptly fully awake again, staring at the slight light making it past the closed door. If Myles had been kidnapped again, if their network had been compromised this far. . . George's hands itched for his knives. But no, he couldn't do anything yet. He needed to get to Myles first, needed to get them both free.

Alanna would be here by now as well, and if Myles was gone, she would be searching for him. So would the rest of the city. It would explain the increased number of guards, the nervousness of his kidnappers. He needed to get in contact with people at the palace, see what they knew. But not now. He still needed to know more about the kidnappers.

Alanna, he thought to himself, then he consciously closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep. He would need the strength.

* * *

Dressed in the good, no-nonsense dress of a merchant, with her red hair braided back and pinned up, Alanna met with Zahir the next morning to go into the Lower City. The lack of a sword made Alanna's skin crawl, and time after time she felt her hand wanting to twitch toward the pommel that wasn't there. But women weren't warriors, not in the Lower City, and she needed to be as inconspicuous as she could.

They were going to Westberk Street, from where you could reach all part of the Lower City in a good quarter of an hour if you were willing to run and forget any niceties regarding crowds. Alanna bought some bread while Zahir gathered his men and their report. As each warrior disappeared and reappeared, she hoped that he would be the one to bring back good news. But the news didn't come. Not until Alanna was pulled roughly into an alley and nearly skewered a woman with her belt knife.

"Who are you?" Alanna demanded, holding the tip of her knife squarely against the woman's throat. The woman had frozen the second the steel appeared, but her body language spoke of being at ease rather than being frightened.

"Put away your knife," the woman said in a hoarse voice, an odd, lop-sided smile on her face. A Gallan, with enough mixed blood to go unnoticed anywhere as long as she didn't speak. "I come with news about your husband, Woman Who Rides Like a Man."

Alanna's shoulders wanted to slump. She wanted to throw the knife away and just question the woman, but her training didn't let her. Her time with George, his lessons on how these things worked didn't let her. "Shadows rest upon the pommel," she said, staring intently at the woman.

The woman nodded approvingly. "Lightning merges with stone," she said. "You're cautious, Champion. Good for you."

Alanna sheathed her knife, never letting her eyes off the woman. "You've seen George."

The woman made a face. "George saw me," she said dryly as she took a step out of the darkest of the shadows. "You can call me Nilla. I'm one of George's . . . people."

"Nilla," Alanna said. It was a common enough a name and probably not her real one. "How was he?"

"He looked fine to me." Nilla shrugged. "We didn't exactly have the time to chat, but he did convey that he was looking for something and was close to finding it."

Myles? Alanna wondered. It seemed likely. She clenched her jaw briefly. If George was with Myles, everything was going to be fine, she was sure of it. Alanna looked at Nilla. "Where was he when you saw him?"

"The back streets of the butcher square," she replied, but she shook her head when Alanna moved to run. "No point, Champion. He was moving with a group of people. They will be long gone by now."

"Someone might have seen him," Alanna pointed out.

Nilla looked politely skeptical at that, or maybe at the thought of someone from Lower City telling the Champion anything willingly. A point, of course, but she still had to try.

"Thank you for coming," she told Nilla. The woman flashed a smile before disappearing. Alanna looked for Zahir. They needed to move now.

* * *

Not unexpectedly, George thought, they hadn't come as far as Rus had believed they could when they started moving early in the morning. The guards were still alert in their searching, and several times only an abrupt dash into an alley kept them from being found. His neck chafed from the rope, and his hands were scraped and dirty from a fall caused by one quick turn. Know the city, Rus did. How to avoid the guard . . . not as much.

He needed to find out who was leading them, needed to find out who had infiltrated the spy network, whether they had sold the information or were using it themselves. Had he still been the Rogue, he would've known, but that wasn't his life anymore. Now, he had to go to these extra lengths to find something out.

This second day on the all-too-familiar back streets of Corus, Rus had begun circling a certain quarter of the Lower City. It was becoming rather clear that their destination was somewhere in there. As soon he had figured this out, George had sent word to Alanna. As he expected, the quarter of the city had started to positively swarm with guards and Bazhir. Rus wouldn't reach his destination today.

A little after midday, Rus turned them into an alley and started a furious, whispering conversation with a man George thought was called Andar. George looked at the ground and tried to appear engrossed by the cobblestones even as he listened closely to what they said.

"They have blocked off the hiding place," Andar hissed at Rus. The axe at his back clinked as he gesticulated. "They must have been discovered!"

"Don't be foolish," Rus said, keeping his voice low and even in a way Andar's wasn't. "It's fairly high-profile people we've taken. Of course they would be looking."

"But not like this!" Andar insisted. He pointed at George. "And him! He's not supposed to be able to lead us on a chase like that! There's something weird going on."

Rus, to his favor, thought that over. George glanced up briefly through his lashes. It almost looked like Rus sympathized with Andar. "There's something not right with this," he finally agreed. "But we've been paid, Andar. And we can't just let _him_ go. Either we go through with or we have to. . ."

George didn't bother to mentally fill in the missing words. They were obvious enough, and that didn't bode very well for him. If they didn't get through to their final destination, it wasn't likely they would bother to keep him alive for much more. And while he could get away, that would mean not having any more of a clue of where Myles was. He needed to open up the way for them.

* * *

Deep into the back streets toward the river, Alanna frowned as she lost sight of Zahir behind a flock of people that seemed to come out of nowhere. A bulky man eyed her red hair and figure with an appreciative look. She glared at him from the alley where she had briefly taken shelter and strode quickly to catch up with Zahir. It was hard to remember that the King's City was not completely safe to travel, even in the middle of the day.

Zahir slowed down as he realized she'd fallen behind. Alanna glanced over her shoulder as she reached him. The man was still looking after her. "Trouble?" Zahir asked mildly.

"Nothing I can't handle," Alanna said shortly. She marched over to a stall selling hair ties, ribbons, and scarves, where she choose a simple scarf and handed two coins to the woman selling them. Knotting it over her hair, she set her shoulders. If you ever need to lose someone, cover your hair, George had told her once. It's amazing how much of people's recognition is based on the appearance of your hair.

Reaching another four-way crossroads, Alanna looked down the intersecting roads. They all had guards. The northern one even had a group of five centered around a newly arrived caravan. "There's no point in taking the larger streets," she told Zahir. "Let's start checking the inns along the waterfront. I remember George telling me once there's usually much commerce going on in there that's not strictly of the legal kind."

Zahir looked pained. "I don't wish to lose you as well," he told her pointedly. "I can't assure your safety alone."

"I can take care of myself," she replied, putting her hand on her knife. "And if it turns bad . . . I have my magic."

"Magic is not always enough," Zahir retorted, then sighed. "Come along, then. But we should keep together."

"Now that I agree to," Alanna said. The man had disappeared, but her shoulder blades were still itching. How George could ever feel at home here was a question she had no answer to.

They turned into an alley and walked swiftly northwards, ignoring the eyes following them. Alanna kept her hand on the knife for safety's sake, and Zahir's face was darker than the skies during a thunderstorm. The first inn yielded nothing. It was closed down from a fire that looked like it might have originated from something not quite spontaneous. Alanna shared a look with Zahir and walked to the next inn, a more prosperous sort that looked like it might host even a certain amount of lawful clientele.

"We might as well eat here," Alanna said as they stepped inside, looking around. "They look like they might serve things that are palatable."

"For you, maybe," Zahir said, but he nodded his agreement. "I will order something for us if you find us a table."

Choosing a table in a corner, Alanna pulled out a chair and scowled at all who looked like they might come near her. She left her knife in plain sight. Zahir looked amused when he returned with two ceramic cups, but he didn't say anything, only handed her one. Alanna sipped at it. Cider, and good cider at that.

A larger company stepped into the inn, armed men with someone in their midst whom Alanna couldn't see. She tensed, keeping an eye on them from the corner of her eye. They shuffled into the other corner, still keeping a tight cordon around whomever it was they were hiding.

"The new company," she murmured at Zahir, hiding the movements of her lips with the cup.

"I saw," Zahir said, not looking back at them. "If that man in the middle was a willing companion, may the lightning strike my sword."

Alanna turned her head slightly to get a better look at them and choked as she recognized the prisoner. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she tried to clear her throat of cider, only managing a severe coughing attack. Zahir clapped her on her back, and Alanna flushed darkly, the throat burning hotly.

"George," she gasped almost soundlessly. "It's George."

Zahir stiffened, then evenly handed her the cup. Alanna took a grateful sip, resisting the urge to fly over and beat the life out of the men surrounding George. Her hand was shaking as she put down the cup, and she swallowed against the anger. You didn't take one of hers, you didn't take _George_.

When she dared look back, George was looking at her, something hot and relieved in his eyes. He looked away immediately as she met his eyes, and she knew that he was with them by choice. Looking away as well, she frantically tried to remember what he'd taught her of the thief languages. As she struggled with her memories, she glanced every now and then toward him from out of the corner of her eye.

"Do we need to break him out?" Zahir finally asked after watching her deliberate for a good while. "You look uncertain."

Alanna shook her head minutely. "He's up to something. I'm trying to remember--there's a way to talk without talking. But . . . it's been years since he taught me."

Zahir glanced toward George carefully. "Well, he has faith in you," he said dryly.

She hastily looked in George's direction, and sure enough, his hands were moving carefully beneath the table. Trying not to stare, she mouthed the message under her breath. The butcher's quarter? She frowned, motioning the sign he'd made after that back at him. George's mouth twisted slightly, and he gave up on the signs he'd been using. Instead, he made a brief gesture encompassing the men surrounding him and then made a walking sign with his fingers. Well, that was certainly clear enough.

"I think they're trying to get into the butcher's quarter," she told Zahir under her breath, taking a sip of the cider again. "Doesn't look like they're getting in, though, considering they're here."

"George want us to let them in?"

Alanna nodded. "Seems as if." She put down the cup. "Come on. Let's go pay. We need to speak with the Provost."

She glanced one more at George and found herself meeting his eye. He half-smiled at her and in that smile, she could read everything. _I love you, I miss you. I'll come to you soon._

You better, she thought to herself as she exited the inn with Zahir, or I'll hunt you down myself. You weren't supposed to be the one getting into dangerous situations. That was _me_.

* * *

When they got out of inn, George immediately noticed the decreasing number of guards in their way. Not large enough a decline that his kidnappers would suspect anything, but large enough that they were finally making some progress. He saw Alanna watching from a distance at one point, clad in a simple dress and a head scarf, and had to swallow against the want to be with her instead of traipsing through the city with a group of people that clearly didn't know how these things worked as well as they should have.

Their destination proved to be a burned-out inn just within the circle of the butcher's quarters. Rus led them into what had been the brewing room and gestured for them to dump George into what must have been the store room. The door had barely closed between them before he was pressed against it, listening for what they were saying.

"He should be here tomorrow morning," Rus said. "We'll get paid and get out of here."

"We'd better," Taime muttered. "This is not natural."

"For a mage, you think many things are not natural," Rus said dryly. A chair scraped across the floor.

"Gifted," Taime grumbled. "Not mage."

"Mage enough for to be hired," Rus pointed out. "That number you did on the waterfront shack to hide the old man wiped it straight out."

"And that's the only gift I have," Taime pointed out, his voice telling of old grudges. But George wasn't listening anymore. He had what he needed.

The waterfront, he mused. With a good enough mage they could keep him there forever, or even sneak him onto a boat when the search died off. Clever, whoever the planner of this was. But not clever enough.

Come night, the men shoved some bread and cheese along with a cup of soup at him through the door. Andar freed him enough to eat and locked the door behind him. George devoured the food, then waited as the outside room slowly quieted. When he felt reasonably sure they were asleep, he got himself out of the ties and then the room. A quick look out the window told him there was a guard on the street, but he seemed to be mostly there to keep people from coming in. George retrieved his belongings from Rus's bags and headed for the roof.

* * *

Alanna couldn't sleep. They'd posted watchers at the burned-out inn, and the chance the men would take George anywhere without being noticed was miniscule, But still, she couldn't sleep, worried about George, wondering how far he'd gotten in finding Myles. After an hour or two, she got out of bed. The nagging feeling in her chest refused to dissipate. Impulsively, she pulled on breeches and boots, binding her chest tightly before donning a shirt and light leather cuirass. She wrapped her sword belt around her and took a quick look in the mirror to make sure she could pass for a man before grabbing her burnoose and heading out.

The streets were not as empty as one might have thought they would be in the middle of the night, but still not as filled as during the day. Alanna kept to the lit streets, one hand at her pommel at all times, as she strode toward the Lower City and Rovers Street. Impulsively, she took the Market Bridge over the river rather than the one closer to her home. Alanna nearly jumped out of her skin as a shadow pulled loose from a wall on the other side. Without hesitation, she drew her sword, walking carefully sideways until she could see who it was.

When she did, she hastily sheathed her sword and hurried over. "George!" she exclaimed quietly, grabbing him by the arm before throwing herself around his neck. His arms went about her and he twirled her once before grabbing her face and kissing her roughly.

"Alanna," he replied, letting a hand touch her cheek before putting some space between them. "You're up late."

"Something was worrying at me," Alanna admitted, unable to quench the fool's smile on her face. Only a few days they'd been apart, and still she had missed him. "Seems it was the gods telling me you were up to something."

George smiled ruefully, pulling a hand through his hair. "I was coming to get you," he admitted, checking over his shoulder. Abruptly aware of where she was, Alanna straightened, dropping her hand back to her pommel. "I finally found out where Myles is."

The worry in her chest eased even as she said, "How did you know he was gone?"

George shook his head. "I didn't, not until after I'd let myself get caught. Those men were hunting me since back home."

"Home?" Alanna said sharply. "Why would they want you?"

"Someone has infiltrated the spy network," George said grimly, and shivers ran down Alanna's spine. "And they appear to want to get rid of its two masters."

"Not kill?" Alanna said, voice shaky. If Myles had already been. . .

"Not yet," George said with a comforting quirk of his mouth. "We should get Myles now, though. The men were getting impatient, and I got the impression something is happening, and soon."

"Do you know what?" Alanna asked, glancing toward the castle. Jon wasn't so steady on his throne that he wasn't a target. Not yet. It wasn't too long a shot that someone would seek to depose him.

"No, but there won't be anything if Myles and I have anything to say about it," George said grimly. There was a look on his face Alanna hadn't seen since he was the Rogue. It was the same look he'd worn when he returned from meeting justice. There was no room to doubt what he would do, and she couldn't blame him, even though the thought of him assassinating someone wasn't a pleasant one.

Setting her jaw and clenching her hand around the pommel, Alanna nodded. "Then we'd better get Myles," she said. "Do we need to get Zahir?"

"It's better not to," George said, starting off along Rovers Street. "They said he's kept by magic, or I would've gone myself."

"And you would've slept in the barn for a week," Alanna retorted.

George chuckled quietly. "I'm sorry," he said. "I keep forgetting I don't have to be alone."

"I know the feeling," Alanna admitted and fell in beside him. Their hands touching briefly, then she got back to business. "What can we expect?"

George nodded along the road, toward where rough shacks were stacked against the river, ranging from barely standing to new and proud. "He's in one of those," he said quietly, "kept by some sort of magic." He eyed her. "I trust you've got that rock of yours."

Wordlessly raising her hand to cradle it, Alanna smiled wryly. "I go nowhere without."

She slowed down, holding the stone, and scanned the shacks, looking for the tell-tale shimmer of active magic. At first, she saw nothing, but as they came around a slight bend in the road she was almost blinded by bright yellow before she hastily released the crystal, cursing.

"What's wrong?" George demanded, hand going to one of his many knives.

"Me being silly," Alanna admitted, even as she tried to tell herself that the light was only in her mind and not her eyes. "That mage of yours had quite a gift for that kind of spell. The place is rather . . . bright."

George winced with her, briefly laying a hand on the back of her neck before letting go. "Sorry," he said, then nodded toward the shacks. "Which one is it?"

"The worn one in the middle." Alanna pointed it out, then squinted as she realized there were a group of men sitting around a dying fire outside it. "There's guards."

George said an ugly curse, then threw a look at her. "You feel up to it?"

Beating them without help, Alanna filled in. She eyed the men critically. Only two of the five had swords. Another an axe on his belt, and the last two appeared to be wearing knives. It could get ugly, especially without heavier armor than what she wore. But she had her magic, and she had George. She smiled. "We can take them," she said darkly.

"We can," George agreed, and if his grin was a little darker than usual, there wasn't any point in dwelling on it. "I'll sneak around them. Throw up a light when you see me coming around the wall, then we'll take them."

Alanna nodded, pulling back into the shadows as he slipped away. She loosened her sword and took off the burnoose, which she hung from a protruding spike on the nearby shack. It'd be there when she came back, probably. Rolling her shoulders, she took a deep breath, then slid toward the men, stopping when she came within dashing distance. Then she waited.

* * *

George slipped around the shack, pulling throwing knives from their sheaths as he moved. Pausing briefly around the corner, he leaned his head out to see if Alanna was in place and found her hovering almost invisibly just beyond firelight. He took note of the positions of the standing guards and then stepped out, eyes tightly shut. Immediately, violet light flashed brightly around him. If he hadn't squinted, he would never have been able to hit his target. But hit him he did, and the man fell heavily to the ground, a knife in his throat and another in his chest. George pulled out his long knives as Alanna dashed to his side before the remaining men found their feet and drew their weapons. Their opponents were still blinking against the light.

"Get the shack open," he yelled at Alanna as she engaged the swordsmen. He circled the axe man, eyeing the blade warily. A knife was nothing against an axe, but he did have plenty of tricks up his sleeve.

Alanna did something that made the light flicker, and George took advantage of the way the axe man glanced momentarily toward her, sliding his knife between his ribs and upwards. The man slid off the knife with a gurgle. George looked toward Alanna just as she parted one man from his head. She had a split second to shout, "It's open!" before the last men engaged her. They shied away from George, clearly thinking her the easier target for her womanhood despite the display they had just witnessed. George didn't bother feeling pity for them before getting over to the shack.

Pausing briefly at the door, he listened for any guards inside but heard only a single person breathing. George slipped the door open and entered the one room carefully only to see Myles looking at him amusedly. He looked a little dirtier than usual, but otherwise not much worse for wear.

"You're late," he said mildly.

George threw a look over his shoulder. Alanna was dispatching the last man with a fierce grin on her face, kicking his limp body off the sword that she had buried halfway through his chest. "There were complications," he said mildly. "I got your message."

Myles' expression changed, and he looked past George to Alanna, who was coming over now. "Have you told her?"

"Yes," George said and moved aside. Alanna pressed past him as she walked toward Myles. Her eyes flashed as she searched for any sign of injuries.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, voice low.

"No," Myles said, but nevertheless let her help him to his feet. "I _am_ getting too old for the kidnapping business, however." He exchanged a look with George over Alanna's back. "Now, we'd better get to safety. I gather people have been worried."

They walked outside, and George stepped up to Myles's other side. No matter what the older man said, being locked in had still been hard on him. And it still wasn't safe here on the streets. He eyed the corpses as he passed them. They'd been wearing armor in Tirragen colors, which meant that the clean-up would be both easier and harder then it should be. But that would be later, and it wouldn't be his to do alone.

* * *

The next morning, Alanna woke with George's arm slung over her waist and his face buried in her hair. She was warm, relaxed, and the sick feeling in her stomach she'd had for the last few days was gone. She let herself lean into him, eyes fluttering closed for a few moments. Myles was safe, being taken care of by Baird, with Zahir and his men standing guard at all hours. George was back at her side, and she was warm and happy. If she tried, she could almost pretend the last week hadn't happened at all.

"Mmm," George mumbled in her ear, his arm tightening around her waist. "Good morning."

"Morning," she said, turning around to lie face to face with him and nudging his nose with her own. "It's good to have you back."

George smiled and nudged her head a bit until he could kiss her, lingering softly for a few minutes. "It's good to have you with me," he said seriously, holding her eyes. "There's still clean-up to be done, though."

"I know," Alanna replied, sliding a hand down his side. "I'm going with you this time, though."

"I wouldn't dream of having it otherwise," he said, and leaned in again. This time, he didn't pull away.

**Author's Note:**

> This story ended up being not quite what I expected when I started on it, and far longer than I thought. What began as a short fic grew out of proportions as I read my recipient's prompts and the road that took me on was quite interesting to walk. Hope you liked it!


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